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 Dec 2014 bcg poetry
circus clown
november
                                                                     b  r  e  e  z  e
                                                            not a siren, but
                                                  a heavy exhale
                                          saying the holes
                               left in my chest
                         from the bullets
                   he dodged
          can be
     more
than
e
m
p
t
y
s
p
a
c
e
i just have to feel it and
let it pass and let the magic
of creation and connection
take my words and show
other girls like me
how
to
be
something
other than a target.
 Dec 2014 bcg poetry
circus clown
i remember the way love used to taste
it crept up my sternum, crawled up the back of my throat, strangled my tongue, and leaped out of my mouth with a trembling, shaking "i don't know how to feel like this anywhere else so please let me stay"
although there was an eviction notice stuck in between the door and the frame but i didn't open the door, to leave, to see it
and i used to look at people who could find something good and run from it and wonder how they could possibly do that when i ran to every doorstep, pleading for someone to let me in and planting my feet firmly into their ground as soon as they did
there are pieces of myself in every corner of these rooms, every crack in these walls, clumped in bathroom sink drains and i understand now
the more love you give that is unrequited, the less you have to give out again

and i'm only a few drunken, empty i-love-you's away from running dry
i need someone to come into my life and show me that there is a reason for all of this

also, i'm wondering how my family was completely demolished this week and i spent thanksgiving with strangers and have felt more lost and alone than i have in years, but this is all i can muster up: something about not being able to feel like i used to.

strange.
 Dec 2014 bcg poetry
circus clown
if you could see me right now,
you would ask me if i have slept in the 9 months that you have been away
you would tell me that i look like a store that won't close
you would tell me how different you are now and how much you've learned in your shaved head and caged windows
and when i reached to touch your face, you would say that you aren't there yet
you never belonged to me and you never will
but you still keep the guillotine in your bedroom
and the skeletons in your closet still have skin and hair and eyelashes that bat when you make a wish on one of your own
your laughter still doesn't travel like it used to and you don't smile unless you have to
and *******, i used to lay with all of the smiling parts of you
what a foreign memory

i sleep but not as well as i used to
i keep the lights on in hopes that they might catch your attention
and you're no different than you were
the last time you didn't belong to me
i had to go back and figure out how long it's been since he went to jail, and my heart sank when i came to the number nine.. i hope he's okay.
 Dec 2014 bcg poetry
circus clown
tonight was a godsend

he plays the cello in parks after hours while i'm smoking cigarettes and trying to think of things to write down later
he sleeps in the back of his truck with a blue blanket when he doesn't want to wake up in his bedroom alone
he climbs on everything and doesn't sit still and ***** girls that i can only imagine wish that he would kiss them too
he went to school for massage therapy and he looks like chris from skins and he was manic tonight and said i made him happy and he's sorry that he used me
i told him to do it again
 Dec 2014 bcg poetry
circus clown
i used to pace my room
in confusion of why i couldn't get over
the single month we spent together
sharing coffee, kisses, stories, bodies
i barely knew your middle name
but we talked again a few days ago
and i asked you, "do you think
if the people we are now were to
have met eachother before the
people we were then, we would've
had a chance?"

inthe moment it took
for you to reply
i finally figured it out
me and him, we are the
connection, as opposed
to the attraction i have
mistaken it for, he taught
me how to love softly, he
talks like he still knows me
and i still don't trust it but
i have never experienced
anything like this and
now i am pacing my room
again, caught on a simple
text message, sent 11:29am,
that reads "yes, i do."
 Nov 2014 bcg poetry
Mikaila
When I was 14
I loved a girl named Amanda.
She swore she'd die for me.
She held my hand.
I never kissed Amanda:
She was with a boy named John.
For 3 years, we burned together like a flame,
Never touching.
And then one day, she understood, and ran away.
She loved me,
And I loved her,
And she ran away.

Then I found Mickey.
She did touch me.
When we kissed I felt gravity shift
And so did she.
And we held on,
We held on as hell rained down
We held on and hurt each other.
We bled
We fought
We loved
We reached for one another
With a need so immense it destroyed.
We fell apart
And then fell back together inevitably, involuntarily.
I looked at her like she was my god.
She looked at me like I was her judgement.
Eventually there came a time when there was nothing she could not hurt me with
And my love for her became an accusation in her eyes.
She ran, too. She boiled herself in guilt
And threw the scalding remnants in my face,
And I was blind,
And I loved her
And she loved me
And we never spoke
Again.

Therese kissed me on her anniversary with Nick.
I'd never had anyone look into my eyes
With such joy.
She broke down my resistance
Melted it.
When she touched me I shook.
I told her I loved her
And I saw a craving in those eyes
For exactly what I offered
And it
Leveled me with longing.
We danced for months, for nearly a year.
She would kiss me in the dark on the little bridge by the lake
And tell me she shouldn't
And kiss me again as if she couldn't stop.
I drowned in her.
If I could have pried my ribs open and offered her my heart,
I would have.
I said things to her
That shocked me.
I kissed her palms.
And she looked at me with those eyes
Full of joy.
Slowly, she opened before me like a rose,
She told me who she was.
She showed me what she hid.
And then one night
We sat at her kitchen table drinking ***** with juice
And we said everything.
She showed me her diary
That she keeps in fear that she will forget who she is.
It said, "Galaxies" on the inside cover.
She'd never shown anyone before.
She kissed me, she tucked my hair behind my ear,
She smiled at me,
And every time my heart broke with love I saw it hit her
Physically
Like a kiss, like a drug.
She held my hands, said they were beautiful
Said she wished she had hands like that
And I said take them
And she saw me mean it.
She took a black pen and wrote "Galaxies" on my left thumb,
Right next to the scar I got the day after Mickey left.
Later we pressed our skin together as if it could make us the same,
And I have never felt so safe or so whole.
She was like velvet
And through everything her eyes held that joy that squeezed my heart.
I knew she was afraid.
She was afraid because she felt it when I touched her.
She felt it when I loved her,
And she wanted it
Too much.
And so when she said she couldn't,
I already knew.
I haven't heard from her in a very long time.
She loves me.
I love her too.
And she may not come back.

Love is not told by touching.
Love is not told by kindness.
Love is not told by staying or going.
Love has no caveats, no clock, no rules.
Love is.
Love is in the eyes: They never lie.
It doesn't matter how chaste,
How cruel,
How brief.
Love is.
It is not required to be joyful, or easy.
Love is not bound to give
Answers--

What is love.
Can one just walk away?
"Sometimes."
Sometimes?


Sometimes.
(In response to Victoria Kelleher's poem "Love")
 Nov 2014 bcg poetry
Mary K
we spend all our lives searching for color that we don't realize all that exists is in black and white.
in thoughts and words
through tears and laughter
it's all facing ruins
empty, broken, torn down.
the Mayans once were living
they once ruled a kingdom far advanced for their time
and yet they still were wiped out.
what's meant for us, then, if we can't even see in color.
if everything was horrible, if we only knew loss, would it still seem as bad?
if we believe we're seeing color, but we only know black and white, do we actually trick ourselves into playing along?
maybe one day we'll release our souls into the sky,
fly up up up
and
a
   w
         a
              y
and realize
this entire time we weren't seeing color or black and white
we weren't feeling emotions or experiencing thrills
we weren't living.
maybe then we can start our lives.
it just takes a while until we accept it and go,
takes a while to come to terms with the fact we've been fed lies.
come to terms with the fact we have to go though this hell all over again, except this time it actually counts for something.
this time
it's called death.
maybe you thought this was going to be inspiring but really it's a bunch of nonsense pulled out of late night thoughts
 Nov 2014 bcg poetry
Mariah
Eulogy
 Nov 2014 bcg poetry
Mariah
The date draws nearer
to the one I should avoid so
I don’t want to crush my bones.
I have grown 4 inches
in the span of 5 years;
lost 8 teeth.
Those pearls,
falling to the sand
out of my bleeding mouth,
and the jellyfish shocks my foot.
My eyes were fixed on things
I could not keep,
places I could not stay.
Didn’t I know enough?
Didn’t I see enough blood
running down from the windows
of luxurious towers?
Didn’t I see the smoke -
the funnels,
Applying tragedy to beauty.
On the balcony, in my mourning suit,
I cannot view the ocean from here.
So I go,
down the stairs, across the street,
and a radio’s tune, blown by the wind,
reaches me.
I was supposed,
expected to weep.
No other sound could interrupt
the silence and secrecy
between every person in the room
who knew what the other was thinking.
I should have fallen asleep
waiting for the tide.
We gave up on death,
just as we had in life.
I wanted to pull the sun down
by a string,
so I could dream.
Let me go on, do not stir me.
The crash, thunder, light,
All reminders that the earth
was still breathing, alive,
and I do not want to be.
How could I resist such an invitation?
But how dare I after this?
And everything was suddenly changed,
I could feel the loss, in my legs,
in my stomach and veins.
I could see it in the sunset.
How can you leave behind all of this,
and still take so much with you.
We crossed the state line,
back home and the distance
lends a hand to me.
Maybe it was fear, maybe regret,
maybe forgery, maybe innocence.
But I never saw what it was,
why they laughed,
why at the mention of your name,
my stomach clenched.
I never get too close to the fire,
or stayed in the sun for too long.
Many have joined,
many will in peace.
How strange is it,
numbers placed on days,
time placed on light and orbit -
It is too long, too much.
I could find a way, a place,
where all of this makes sense.
I could hide the truth.
I hate the years, the miles,
all dragging me from you,
and the water,
begging to get inside my lungs.
And you show me your face.
But my eyes will always be on the ground and sky,
where I wish I could stay, and wish I could fly.
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